Nothing. I look back at my mother. Her face is sullen.
She must be exactly what I’ve been insisting she’s not. My mom is insane.
“Why are you talking like this?” I hiss. “Are you in on some joke they’re playing on me?”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Then you’re nuts.” My laugh sounds crazy, even to me. If Jen wants to pop up and start snapping pictures, this would be the time. Instead, my mom frowns.
“I didn’t want to explain any of this unless I had to, Nalena. Maybe I should have told you sooner, but it’s just so…complicated. Although I left the community, I still have my responsibilities. Writing these memories is important. It maintains the connection between Earth and the afterlife. Without it, the knowledge of those before us would just slip away. Without it, we’d never move forward.”
I lift a corner of my mouth. “Don’t we have libraries for that?”
“What if the books were never written? Writing a memory for someone who’s passed is like putting a book of that person’s entire life experiences into a life catalogue. We may not all have it at our fingertips at every second, but we all have access. You know what they say: those who seek shall find.” she says. Her eyes are so soft, I really think she believes everything she’s saying. Something about her sincerity draws me in.
“You know this sounds totally cuckoo.” I tell her.
“I know.”
“Well,” My eyes swing back to the house, through the French doors and toward the illuminating light of the Reese’s kitchen. “Why didn’t you just stay in the community if you had friends there?”
“I left after Grandpa was...” She presses a hooked index finger over her lips and her eyes well up. She hardly ever finishes the sentence when she tries to explain it to me. The first time was in elementary school when no one showed up for Grandparent’s Day. All I know is that Grandpa was murdered and the police never caught the man who did it. A folded newspaper clipping in her bureau drawer said that Grandpa’s murder was actually a robbery that had gone wrong. A random thing. The paper said my grandpa would be mourned widely, but it never mentioned anything about him being part of some ancient community that deals in dead people.
“Can we just go home and talk about this?” I finger my earlobe as I watch her. She wipes the corners of her eyes.
“Sorry, honey. Mr. Reese has already left to bring back some of our things.” She laughs weakly. “Just think of this as taking another one for mankind, okay?”
When I don’t laugh, my mom pats my shoulder like I just need to be a good sport. And for the first time in my life, she turns away from me and just goes back into the house alone, leaving me out in the cold.
~ * * * ~
Knowing that Mr. Reese is at our apartment—trying to pick his way through the stacks of my mom’s insanity so he can retrieve my jammies—doesn’t make me feel like he’s family. It just adds to my list of reasons that make me want to evaporate. Along with realizing that my mom has actually flipped her bolt.
Crazy or not, I’m angry at my mom for not giving me a vote in whether or not we stay. I sit on the Reese’s living room couch, staring at the TV like I’m into the documentary Sean turns on, until Mr. Reese returns.
When the front door opens, Mr. Reese hauls in more than just one night’s worth of stuff. He’s got a gym bag full of my clothes and toiletries, my school backpack, my pillow and blanket from my bed, and my Ipod. I don’t ask if my bras and underwear are in there. I know they are. I just take what he brings of mine as a dark blush saturates my face and say thanks. He lugs in my mother’s things too and then, to my absolute horror, he brings in a stack of paper and a package of ink pens.
“If there is anything else you want me to get for you, just make a list and I’ll pick it up or I’ll have one of the boys stop in and get it for you.” Mr. Reese tells
She must be exactly what I’ve been insisting she’s not. My mom is insane.
“Why are you talking like this?” I hiss. “Are you in on some joke they’re playing on me?”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Then you’re nuts.” My laugh sounds crazy, even to me. If Jen wants to pop up and start snapping pictures, this would be the time. Instead, my mom frowns.
“I didn’t want to explain any of this unless I had to, Nalena. Maybe I should have told you sooner, but it’s just so…complicated. Although I left the community, I still have my responsibilities. Writing these memories is important. It maintains the connection between Earth and the afterlife. Without it, the knowledge of those before us would just slip away. Without it, we’d never move forward.”
I lift a corner of my mouth. “Don’t we have libraries for that?”
“What if the books were never written? Writing a memory for someone who’s passed is like putting a book of that person’s entire life experiences into a life catalogue. We may not all have it at our fingertips at every second, but we all have access. You know what they say: those who seek shall find.” she says. Her eyes are so soft, I really think she believes everything she’s saying. Something about her sincerity draws me in.
“You know this sounds totally cuckoo.” I tell her.
“I know.”
“Well,” My eyes swing back to the house, through the French doors and toward the illuminating light of the Reese’s kitchen. “Why didn’t you just stay in the community if you had friends there?”
“I left after Grandpa was...” She presses a hooked index finger over her lips and her eyes well up. She hardly ever finishes the sentence when she tries to explain it to me. The first time was in elementary school when no one showed up for Grandparent’s Day. All I know is that Grandpa was murdered and the police never caught the man who did it. A folded newspaper clipping in her bureau drawer said that Grandpa’s murder was actually a robbery that had gone wrong. A random thing. The paper said my grandpa would be mourned widely, but it never mentioned anything about him being part of some ancient community that deals in dead people.
“Can we just go home and talk about this?” I finger my earlobe as I watch her. She wipes the corners of her eyes.
“Sorry, honey. Mr. Reese has already left to bring back some of our things.” She laughs weakly. “Just think of this as taking another one for mankind, okay?”
When I don’t laugh, my mom pats my shoulder like I just need to be a good sport. And for the first time in my life, she turns away from me and just goes back into the house alone, leaving me out in the cold.
~ * * * ~
Knowing that Mr. Reese is at our apartment—trying to pick his way through the stacks of my mom’s insanity so he can retrieve my jammies—doesn’t make me feel like he’s family. It just adds to my list of reasons that make me want to evaporate. Along with realizing that my mom has actually flipped her bolt.
Crazy or not, I’m angry at my mom for not giving me a vote in whether or not we stay. I sit on the Reese’s living room couch, staring at the TV like I’m into the documentary Sean turns on, until Mr. Reese returns.
When the front door opens, Mr. Reese hauls in more than just one night’s worth of stuff. He’s got a gym bag full of my clothes and toiletries, my school backpack, my pillow and blanket from my bed, and my Ipod. I don’t ask if my bras and underwear are in there. I know they are. I just take what he brings of mine as a dark blush saturates my face and say thanks. He lugs in my mother’s things too and then, to my absolute horror, he brings in a stack of paper and a package of ink pens.
“If there is anything else you want me to get for you, just make a list and I’ll pick it up or I’ll have one of the boys stop in and get it for you.” Mr. Reese tells
Similar Books
